


welcome to the end times

by lalaland666 (orphan_account)



Series: The Rabbit and the Seraph [19]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Armageddon, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Discorporation (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Temporary Character Death, we’ve reached the main canon! congrats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lalaland666
Summary: Armageddon, and what Crowley and Azra do about it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Rabbit and the Seraph [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853713
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We’ve reached the main canon timeline!! Thank you all so much for sticking with me this far haha. This one is gonna be a multi-chapter, so even though the first chapter is… Not Exactly Fun, I promise it ends okay! I hope you guys enjoy!!

**_St. James Park, Saturday, the last day of the world_ **

Crowley paced circles around the bandstand as he waited for Azra to arrive, his mind racing. Their little trip to Tadfield had been completely useless, unfortunately, and Crowley had been starting to get desperate before Azra called him, sounding utterly frantic and asking to meet. And thus, Crowley was loitering around by the old bandstand in an oddly (almost miraculously) empty park on the morning that the world was meant to end, waiting for his bunny to arrive and tell him whatever it was he'd found out. 

A plan was beginning to form in Crowley's mind, a desperate sort of last-hope thing. He hadn't had any luck with Shadwell and his people, as far as the whole Antichrist thing went. If he and Azra couldn't find the kid, and all of this went up in flames… 

Crowley was only waiting for a minute or two before Azra appeared, wringing his hands and glancing around nervously. 

“What’s up?” Crowley asked, once Azra reached the edge of the old bandstand. “You okay?” 

“Perfectly,” Azra said, glancing around again and hurrying in close. “Crowley– I know where the Antichrist is.” 

Crowley’s jaw dropped. “You do? Holy shit. C’mon, then, let’s go!” He grabbed Azra’s hand and pulled him forwards. 

“G-go? What– Crowley, wait!” Azra said, stumbling after the angel. “We don’t have a plan yet!” 

“Sure we do,” Crowley said. “You kill the Antichrist, and we save the world. Simple enough, I reckon.” 

Suddenly, Azra’s hand vanished from Crowley’s, and Crowley stopped, turning around. 

Azra’s eyes were wide and horrified. “I am not _killing_ anybody! No one is doing any killing!” 

“Bunny, listen, it’s the only way,” Crowley said, reaching once more for Azra’s hand. 

“Absolutely not,” Azra said sharply. “You could kill him. You'd just– just thwart me one last time, yes?” 

“I’m an angel, I can’t kill kids!” Crowley protested, aghast. 

“Oh, please. As if that’s ever stopped your side before,” Azra said sharply. 

“Don’t you get all high-and-mighty with me, _demon_ ,” Crowley snapped back. “It’s not as though you’ve been innocent in this bloody mess.” 

“Crowley, you know we can’t just kill him,” Azra said. “He’s getting more powerful by the moment, I’m not sure we even could kill him if we tried, at this point.” 

Crowley blinked. “Wh– no. There’s got to be something…” 

Azra bit his lip, then said softly, “It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.” 

“Yeah?” Crowley said, rolling his eyes and pacing away from the demon again. “For the record, great, pustulent, mangled bollocks to the _Great blasted_ –” 

“Crowley!” Azra said, catching Crowley’s wrist in one gloved hand and squeezing it so tightly it nearly hurt. “You can’t _say_ things like that.” 

“Why? I’ll Fall? Not bloody likely, not at this point.” 

“Or worse,” Azra said softly. “Crowley, please–” 

“This is ridiculous,” Crowley said, pulling his hand free. “You are ridiculous. I’m leaving, bunny.” 

“You can’t leave, Crowley,” Azra said, his voice still so quiet, almost _pleading_. “There isn’t anywhere to go.” 

Crowley turned around, facing Azra again, and spread his arms out. “It’s a big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can… go off together.” 

Azra’s face softened, his eyes going wide. “Go off… together?” Then he shook his head, scoffing quietly. “Listen to yourself.” 

Crowley felt as though he were about to burst, all the stress of the last few days, the last eleven years, the last six _millennia_ , all bubbling up inside him. “How long have we been friends? Six thousand years!” 

“Friends?” Azra asked, his hands beginning to worry together again, his gaze fixed resolutely on Crowley’s collar. “We can’t be friends. We are an angel and a demon, we’re hereditary enemies!” 

“That hasn’t mattered for millennia,” Crowley said, taking a few steps forwards. 

“That’s all that matters!” Azra cried, his eyes finally meeting Crowley’s, and Crowley stumbled to a stop at the sight of the tears shining in them. 

“Bunny, listen, if we just run far enough, they can’t catch us. We could make it.” 

“You’re being absurd. You’ve gone mad, Crowley! We can’t hide from this!” 

“I’m the one who’s gone mad? Am I? While you’re standing here, refusing to do anything to stop the end of the world because you’re too scared of bloody Gabriel–” 

“Crowley, _stop_ –” 

“No, I won’t!” Crowley snapped. “I don’t care what Heaven thinks, Azra, I love–” 

“Crowley!” Azra took a deep breath, then squeezed his eyes shut and spat out, “Even if I could run off with you, I wouldn’t. We’re on opposite sides.” 

“We’re on our side!” Crowley protested. 

“There is no ‘our side’, Crowley!” Azra said. “Not anymore. It’s over!” 

Crowley froze. It was as though a bucket of ice had just been upended over his head. Azra couldn’t– he couldn’t mean– 

But Azra wasn’t looking at him, his eyes still resolutely closed, his hands balled into fists. 

“Bunny…” Crowley breathed. 

“Go,” Azra said, shaking his head. “If you intend to run off, just _go_.“ 

Crowley took a step back, then another, and another. “Right. Well, then.” He turned, walking off, his heart hammering in his ears. 

“Have a nice doomsday,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around. He wasn’t sure if Azra heard him. 

He wasn’t sure it would have mattered, if he had. 

### 

Azra stumbled back to the bookshop in a daze, his limbs leaden and his chest aching. 

_I did the right thing,_ he thought desperately. _If he runs on his own, he might yet be safe. He’s a Seraph, the Archangels wouldn’t want to risk having to go up against him. He could be safe, still. I did the right thing, telling him to run, getting him to leave me behind._

Somehow, he just couldn't quite make himself believe it. 

Carefully, Azra locked the bookshop door behind himself before making his way carefully towards his desk, where _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_ was still sitting. He'd read the whole thing through already, and it hadn't mentioned a way to _stop_ Armageddon, exactly, but… 

He just had to come up with something. If he could just think of _something_ , some idea, some last, desperate hope, then maybe all of this could still be okay. He would be a traitor, of course, and there was very little chance that he'd survive, but if he could– could get to Tadfield, and just _talk_ to Adam, maybe, just maybe– 

Azra's vision suddenly went blank, and he stumbled to the side, colliding hard with an end table, as a voice filled his ears. 

_You've done it now, haven't you, little rabbit?_ It was Hastur's voice, and he sounded utterly furious. 

"Wh-what–" Azra forced out. "I don't know what you mean." 

"The _boy_ ," Hastur snarled. "The boy called Warlock. We took him to the Fields of Megiddo, and he knew nothing. He is not our master's son. He said that I…" and Hastur's voice in Azra's head faltered for a moment. "He said that I smelled of poo." 

"Ah," Azra said, blinking furiously in a useless attempt to regain his vision. "Terribly sorry about that." 

"You're dead meat, Azra," Hastur said, his voice growing louder, loud enough that it was almost painful. "You're bloody history." 

The fog covering Azra's vision receded, and he clung to the table he was leaning against to keep from collapsing. 

Oh, Lord. This was bad. This was very, very bad. 

### 

Crowley stood in his flat, staring at the floating pages all around him, covered in images the humans took of the stars and galaxies that he’d helped to build. 

The humans had found these things, these objects that were so very far away from them, spanning across massive distances that their brains hadn’t a chance in Hell of actually understanding, and they photographed them, and added those brilliant colours so they could see the shapes better, and they were trying so, so hard to design ways of going to visit the sources of their gorgeous photos, and– 

And, by tomorrow, if nothing changed, they’d all be dead, wiped out so that Heaven and Hell could have their little pissing contest on the Earth’s desiccated corpse. 

“I know I’m not meant to ask questions,” Crowley said, looking up at the ceiling, up towards Her, for the first time in… shit, he couldn’t even remember how long it’d been. “But You’re meant to be all-knowing anyways, right? So You already know what I think about this. It’s bullshit, by the way. All of it. Heaven and Hell, the Fall, Armageddon. It’s all bullshit.” 

He sighed, draping himself across the back of his chair– throne– whatever the hell it was. “They’re brilliant, really, the humans are. Sometimes the ways they’re brilliant are horrifying, but they’re just– they’re so clever. I know, You’re testing them, You said You were going to test them, but… don’t test them to destruction.” He looked over at the globe, hovering just within reach, then reached over and swiped at it, batting it away. “Not to the end of the _world_.” 

Only silence followed his words. Not that he’d expected anything else, of course, but… but it still hurt, in its own way. Crowley remembered, when She’d been around. How different things had been back then. She’d talked to Her angels, while creating things, She’d show them the ropes to get started on their own projects, She’d been warm and kind and so had the other angels, in their own way. Mind, Crowley had always been a bit of an oddball, preferring to hide amongst the stars and avoid his fellow angels, just calling out to Her if he wanted to talk to someone, and back then, She responded. At least, She had, up until… 

Up until the Fall. Crowley hadn’t been there, had been hidden away amongst his creations, but he’d heard about it afterwards. Lucifer got jealous of humanity and rebelled against God, against Heaven. About half of Heaven had joined him, nearly fifteen million in total. There had been a War. A third of the angels were cast out. Another third, nearly five million from Heaven’s side and the same from the newly-minted Hell’s, had died, been wiped out of existence, like they’d never been created in the first place. And the third that were left behind retreated into themselves, growing cold and harsh and distant. Crowley was glad he hadn’t been there to see it– a part of him worried, every now and again, about what would have happened if he had. 

Afterwards, She’d retreated, leaving Heaven in the care of the four Archangels that remained, sending Her orders through them and the Metatron from that point forward. She’d come back, briefly, to kick Adam and Eve out of Eden, but so far as Crowley knew, no angel had heard Her voice directly since then. 

Crowley knew that Heaven, God, had done absolutely awful things, since the Fall of Man. But this… this seemed a step too far. He couldn’t imagine how the God he’d spoken to back in his days building stars could possibly condone this. It was– it was _wrong_. Absolutely, unequivocally wrong. 

“I know You aren’t talking to us,” Crowley said softly, looking Up once more. “But… You can’t mean for this to happen. You can’t mean to sacrifice all of them for– for whatever nonsense grudge Heaven and Hell are holding. Even– even if You are, I won’t– I _won’t_ let it happen. Not if there’s a damn thing left I can do to stop it. Not even if I Fa–” 

The old phone on Crowley’s desk rang, cutting off his words, and Crowley stared at it until the answerphone picked up. 

_Hi, this is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style._

“–telephoned you,” Azra was saying, when the message started. “Ah, Crowley, I– listen, I think I have an idea for what to do with the child. We just have to–” 

There was a sudden, growling voice on the other line, far enough away that Crowley couldn’t make out the words, but he thought it sounded familiar. 

He picked the phone up immediately, preparing to travel through it, saying, “Azra, stay on the line, I’m gonna–” 

“Hastur. Ligur. What are you–” Azra said. 

And then the line went dead. 

“Shit!” Crowley hissed, throwing the phone down and sprinting towards the door to his flat. “Shit, shit, shit!” _I shouldn’t have left him alone. I knew we’d be in trouble! I should’ve asked again, should’ve begged him to come with me, I could’ve convinced him. Let him be okay, please,_ please _, just let him be okay._

Crowley made it down the stairs and out onto the street. He could see his Bentley from here, sitting there, gleaming in the sun, and he made a beeline for her– 

Only to pull up short as Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and surrounded him. 

“Hi, guys,” Crowley said, standing his ground as the three Archangels crowded in close to him and forcing what he hoped was a smooth, calm-looking smile. “What can I do for you?” 

“We’ve just been learning some rather disturbing things about you, Coriel,” Michael said. “You’ve been behaving like a bit of a… Fallen angel, haven’t you? Consorting with the enemy?” 

Panic shot through Crowley like ice in his veins, but he forced himself to ignore it, rolling his eyes instead. “Look, I know you lot don’t like me, but you can’t just say things like that without any evidence to back them up. Now, if you don’t mind, I really don’t have time for this right now–” 

He made to push past them, but Michael grabbed his arm, shoving him back, directly into Uriel’s grip. Their hands tightened around his shoulders, freezing him in place, as Michael and Sandalphon stepped in even closer. Crowley spared a glance for the crowds of humans steaming past– none of them noticed a damn thing. Of course not. The Archangels were plenty powerful enough to assault an employee in broad daylight in the middle of London without being noticed. Why had Crowley expected anything different? 

“Listen, I think you’ve got this all wrong,” he tried again. 

“Don’t think your little blond boyfriend will get you special treatment in Hell,” Uriel said, their voice cold and derisive. “He’s in trouble, too.” 

_I know, that’s why I need you lot to get the bloody hell out of my way!_ Crowley thought frantically. 

“It’s time to choose sides, Coriel,” Michael said, her eyes fixed, unwavering, on Crowley’s. 

Crowley had one play left. It was risky, dangerous as anything, but it was the only option he had. 

“Bullshit,” he said. “Listen, I know you’re trying to scare me here, but it won’t work. You can’t make me Fall, not at this point.” 

Michael raised a cool eyebrow. “Of course I can. Hasn’t Aziraphale told you?” 

“I mean, physically, of course you can,” Crowley said, shrugging broadly and– ah, thank fuck– dislodging Uriel’s vice grip in the process. “I won’t stop you. But, at this point, I know Heaven’s plans. I know all our moves. I’m a Seraph, I’m powerful. Strategically, I’d be a big get for the Other Side, going into the War. You can’t make me Fall, because if you tried it, I’d be able to ruin you.” 

The Archangels stared at Crowley, silent, aghast, for a long, long moment. 

Then Sandalphon stepped forwards, punching Crowley _hard_ in the gut, sending him stumbling back, directly into Uriel’s grip. They grabbed him once again, this time wrenching one arm behind his back to pin him more effectively. 

“ _Ow_ ,” Crowley said, sucking in a deep breath as spots danced in front of his eyes. 

“We may not be able to make you Fall,” Michael conceded. “But we don’t have to.” And then she reached out her hand, energy gathering around it as she prepared to summon her sword. 

“Okay, now I _really_ don’t have time for this,” Crowley hissed. 

He was a bloody Seraph. He might not have fought in the first War, but he’d gotten into plenty of plain old human scraps over the years. He knew how to fight, and how to fight dirty. And none of the three Archangels were expecting a fellow angel to fight against them. 

As quick as he could, Crowley dropped down and twisted towards his pinned arm, pulling it free from Uriel’s grip and swiping their feet out from under them. They yelped, tumbling to the ground, and Crowley used the couple of seconds of shock to lash out with his elbow at Michael, hitting her square in the throat and sending her reeling back, coughing. He summoned a knife, just a plain old human weapon, and launched it at Sandalphon. It hit, sinking to the hilt into the Archangel’s forehead, and Sandalphon tipped back, his eyes going glassy, his body dissolving into ash before it even hit the ground. Crowley whipped around again, letting loose another conjured knife, which hit Michael in the shoulder, and then ducked under Uriel’s reaching arm, stabbing them in the leg. 

Then he took off, sprinting towards the Bentley before any of them had a chance to recover, before their miracled invisibility wore off. He launched himself into the driver’s seat and took off, speeding even more recklessly than usual towards the bookshop, hoping against all hope that he wasn’t too late. 

### 

Azra waited impatiently for Crowley to pick up the phone, his foot tapping against the wooden floor of the shop. He just– he just needed to apologise, to tell Crowley that he had a plan, and ask if the angel would be so kind as to drive him to Tadfield, and then– and then they’d be able to fix this. This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. The world wouldn’t end like this. 

_They_ wouldn’t end like this. 

Finally, finally, the ringing stop, and Crowley’s voice sounded. “This is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style.” 

“Of course I know who you are, you idiot,” Azra said, frowning down at the receiver in front of him as though Crowley could see. “I telephoned you. Ah, Crowley, I– listen, I think I have an idea for what to do with the child. We just have to–” 

And then the bookshop door swung open, and Hastur’s voice sounded. “Hellooo, little rabbit.” 

Azra froze, panic flooding through him, as Hastur and Ligur stepped into the shop, their eyes immediately landing on Azra and twin grins spreading across their faces. 

“Hastur,” Azra said, carefully, carefully, moving to set the phone back down on the receiver. The last thing he needed was for Crowley to do his little phone line trick here and land in the middle of this. “Ligur. What are you doing here?” 

“I thought Hastur made that pretty obvious,” Ligur said, stalking forwards, Hastur on his tail and grinning almost maniacally. “We’re here to collect you.” 

“I do hope you know that I won’t go with you,” Azra said sharply, standing up as straight as he could manage. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_ sat beside the telephone, and Azra laid a hand on it carefully, miracling it into invincibility. _If Crowley does come here, then at least he’ll have a fighting chance_. “I’m not leaving Earth.” 

Impossibly, Hastur’s grin broadened even further. 

Ligur smirked. “We were hoping you’d say that.” 

Azra’s panic was mounting with every passing second. He had to go, he had to get out of there, he had to _run_ – 

But there was nowhere to go. 

“Perhaps we can talk about this,” he said instead, raising his hands placatingly and taking a small step back, only to find himself pressed up against a bookshelf. 

“Ligur’s not big on talking,” Hastur said. 

“I’m not,” Ligur confirmed. “And it’s my turn to wreck your little library.” 

“Bookshop,” Azra corrected faintly. 

Neither of them heard him. 

“I was thinking drowning this time,” Ligur said. 

Hastur grimaced. “Boring. But it’s your call.” 

“We can’t only do what you want to do,” Ligur said. 

“W-wait,” Azra stammered, clutching at the edge of the side table behind him. “Please, there has to– there has to be _something_ , you can’t just–” 

“Can and will,” Hastur said. 

And then he reached out, his hand fastening around Azra’s throat, and Azra tried to cry out but he couldn’t, he couldn’t breathe, Hastur was choking him, and then he could feel water, the ship’s sprinklers had started up, and they were streaming down onto the books, onto the floor, the water was rising and Azra was clawing at Hastur’s hand and he still couldn’t breathe and Hastur and Ligur were saying something else and there were dark spots dancing in his vision and he could see his books out of the corner of his eye, could see the ancient covers and delicate pages dissolving under the onslaught, and the water around his feet was rising and the black spots were spreading and it hurt, it _hurt_ , and he couldn’t even scream– 

And then everything went dark, and Azra died. 

### 

Crowley sped through the streets of London as Azra’s number rang out, yet again. Crowley forced himself not to panic. Azra would be okay. He was clever, incredibly so, and so good at working out loopholes. 

_He’s also bloody brilliant at getting into trouble,_ a voice in the back of Crowley’s head whispered, and Crowley forced it away desperately. Azra would be fine. He’d be _fine_. He had to be. 

Crowley pulled up in front of the bookshop and clambered out into the rain, elbowing his way through the crowd of onlookers to– 

Shit. Shit, why was there a crowd of people around? Why were there police lining the street? What the fuck–? 

And then Crowley took in the shop, saw the water streaming down inside, running in small rivers from the cracks in the windows and the gap under the door, and his heart stopped. 

_No,_ he thought, frantically, desperately. _No. He can’t– they wouldn’t– even Hell wouldn’t–_

Crowley stumbled forwards, shoving his way more firmly through the gathering crowd, panic seizing his chest as he reached out with his angelic senses, searching desperately for an aura, a sign, even a whiff of Azra. He had to be there. He had to be okay. He _had_ to. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you own this place?” some random human or another asked. 

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” Crowley demanded as he snapped the doors open, darted inside, and then snapped them shut once more behind them. 

There was no sign of Azra. No aura. No glowing, endless love. Nothing but the hiss of the sprinklers overhead and the dripping of water down the shelves, dissolving Azra’s entire life’s work in his absence. 

“Azra,” Crowley called out, and his voice came out broken, half a sob, desperate and pleading. “Azra, where the Hell are you, you bloody idiot? I can’t find you–” 

He stumbled to the side, his hip knocking against the side table with the phone on it, and he sank to the ground, which was– it was littered with pages, with the remnants of books, and it looked like something had _clawed_ at them, tearing them to shreds, even after they'd already been soaked through. A different book, one that looked almost whole, splashed down onto the floor, and Crowley caught it instinctively, hiding it under his jacket. The books. Azra would hate it if the books... 

Then he looked down, and saw the dark smear on the floor, the stain of an occult entity’s dissolved body, and something inside of him just _broke_. 

“You’ve gone,” he breathed, his entire body trembling as his shielding miracle broke, and the sprinklers drenched him through in seconds. “Azra…” 

_Somebody killed my best friend._

Azra was gone. Crowley had run off and sulked, like a bloody _idiot_ , and then Hell had come for Azra and he was _gone_ and the world was going to end and _Azra was gone_ – 

Crowley sobbed, curling in on himself, his tears joining the water already streaming down his cheeks, the one book he’d been able to save still tucked inside his jacket where it was dry and safe and would stay that way. 

The rest of the shop was gone. Azra was gone. And Crowley… 

For the first time in eternity, Crowley was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been super busy this week, and also I'm now stuck in a mandatory quarantine because my roommate tested positive for coronavirus, so this is even more of a mess than usual lol (don't worry, I'm okay, I'm just trapped inside and Really Not Loving It). I hope that you guys like this chapter despite all that! Thank you for reading!!

Azra landed hard in the main hall of Hell, stumbling to the side as his ancient leg wound, the one from the first War, acted up. 

There was a soft chuckle from behind him, and Azra spun around. Satan was sprawled upon His throne, as always, and there was a broad grin stretched across his face. 

_Oh, I don’t have time for this,_ Azra thought , more than a little desperately, straightening up and fixing the jacket of the fairly tattered suit that he defaulted to in his non-corporeal form. It was messier than he liked, and pure black, unlike his usual softer greys, and he didn’t have any gloves, but... well, it wasn’t like he had a choice, like this. 

“Welcome home, little rabbit,” Satan said, still sounding unendingly amused. 

“Hastur and Ligur?” Azra asked, rolling his eyes. “Really. Was that entirely necessary?” 

“I think it was,” Satan said. “You betrayed me, darling. Still surprising me, after six thousand years.” 

“Ah,” Azra said. “Yes. About that.” 

“Oh, poor pet,” Satan said, His voice a mocking parody of sympathy. “Come up here, tell me what’s bothering you.” 

Azra just stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “What’s _bothering_ me? You can’t possibly be serious.” 

“When am I not?” Satan asked. “Come here, darling, and we'll talk about this. Of course, I can't let you off scott free, you did betray me, but I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement–" 

He reached out, and His hand, hellfire-hot and heavy as lead, landed on Azra's cheek. 

Azra jerked himself away, stumbling back, just a few steps out of range, and wincing at the pain in his leg as he did so. 

Satan raised what should have been an eyebrow, a small, amused sort of smirk playing across his lips. 

And at this point, Azra was too hurt, too heartbroken, too absolutely _furious_ to even try to take it back. "You're mad. You must be absolutely mad, to think that I would put up with another eternity of– of this sort of nonsense from you!" 

Satan's brow arched higher. "You don't have a choice." 

"Do I not?" Azra asked, looking around the main chamber of Hell. It was empty, at the moment, apart from Azra and Satan, and the various tunnels leading back up to Earth were all unguarded. 

He glanced back up at Satan, who was still staring at him, that horrid amusement writ across His face. 

_I could explain it to him for the rest of time,_ Azra thought suddenly, _and He'd never understand. He hasn't loved anything but Himself in millennia._

Slowly, almost cautiously, Azra approached one of the tunnels. He rarely used these, not if he could avoid it, so he wasn't entirely sure which one led back to England… 

"Where are you going?" Satan asked, His voice taking on a slow, uncertain edge. It was an odd sound, coming from the Devil Himself. "Get back here." 

"I don't think I shall," Azra said, almost to himself. He glanced over his shoulder once more. "I feel as though this one lets out near London…" 

"If you leave me now, little rabbit, then no force in Heaven or Hell can hide you from the punishment I'll send your way–" Satan snarled, bracing Himself to rise from His throne. 

And then, his leg throbbing and his chest aching and a wild, desperate amalgam of panic and hope flooding him, Azra took a deep breath, snapped, "Oh, fuck off," and then leapt into the tunnel, and everything went black. 

### 

Crowley swayed in his seat, gesturing for the bartender to bring him another bottle of… what was he drinking, now? He supposed it didn't matter, not really, not at this point. 

He was still soaked through, his hair dripping into his face, but it did a good enough job hiding the tears on his cheeks (even if it couldn't hide the puffiness of his eyes or the way his hands shook in a manner that had nothing to do with how very drunk he was), so he didn't bother to miracle it away. He'd dripped in the Bentley, too, and if he'd been even a bit more in his right mind, he would've seen that for the cardinal sin it was, but… 

But Azra was dead. Azra was gone, leaving behind nothing but a smear of ash on the floor of the bookshop, and the bookshop itself was ruined, and Azra might just have been discoporated, yeah, but there was so much water, and no way to tell how much of it was blessed– 

Crowley's mind veered sharply away from that thought, unable to even glance at it in passing for the way it made his entire chest squeeze tight, and instead words spilled out of his lips as the poor bartender set another bottle of whatever-it-was down on the table. 

"I would've Fallen for him, y'know," Crowley said, slumping to the side, his eyes not quite focusing on the human as they walked away. "If he'd asked me to. Never would've, of course, he never would've… but maybe tha's why, n'the end. Cuz he never… he never… I didn't even like it much, Up There. Boring as anything, an' the food's awful. Would've given it up n'a heartbeat, f'he'd… f'I thought he'd let me. Never did. Never… never got a chance…" 

And then he felt something, a wisp of smoke, a demonic miracle, and then, in the bench opposite him… 

" _Azra_?" 

Azra's head jerked up, his eyes not focusing on Crowley– not really focusing on anything, really. 

Crowley leaned in closer, completely unable to tell whether the demon in front of him was real or a figment of his drunken, grieving imagination. "Are you here?" 

"Not certain," Azra said, "never done this before." He paused, then asked more loudly, "Can you hear me?" 

"Course I can hear you," Crowley said, leaning back again. 

"I'm afraid I've made rather a mess of things," Azra said with a small, apologetic smile, and _fuck_ , as drunk and fucked up as he was, Crowley felt that like a stab in the chest. "Did you… did you end up leaving?" 

"Nah," Crowley said, doing his very best to shrug nonchalantly. "Changed my mind. Stuff happened." His voice broke, and there were fresh tears in his eyes, but he pushed the words out anyways. "I lost my best friend." 

"Oh," Azra said, his mouth falling open slightly, his eyes going wide, and, shit, Crowley wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms and his wings and hold him until the end of time. "Oh, Crowley…" 

"But you're here!" Crowley said, forcing his own, now-unfounded, grief back as forcefully as he could. "What _happened_ , bunny? I got your call, and I went to the shop–" 

"You did get my call?" Azra asked. "Oh, I wasn't sure– well, I– I've been discorporated." 

"Hastur and Ligur," Crowley surmised. 

"Quite," Azra said. "That's also, ah… are you still at the shop?" 

"N-no," Crowley said, blinking. "I– it– Azra, the shop is–" 

"I know," Azra said, and something flickered across his face, something faint and pained, and the desperate urge to hug the demon roared up again. "It– I was still there, when Ligur– but no matter. Ah. There– there should have been one book there that was safe, I tried to miracle it– the one the young lady with the bicycle left behind, _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of_ –" 

"Agnes Nutter!" Crowley finished, an odd sort of euphoria overwhelming him, finally driving out the grief, as he pulled the still-dry book out of a pocket it shouldn't have technically been able to fit in and waved it in front of Azra's face. "Yes! I took it!" 

"You did?" Azra asked, and there was tiny smile on his face, and, _God_ , Crowley had thought he'd never get to see that smile again, if he wasn't careful he was going to fall apart again in front of Azra and he'd never let himself live that down. 

"Look inside!" Azra was saying, and Crowley blinked, flicking the book open to see a sheaf of notes and maps, stuffed into the first page, as Azra kept talking. "I made notes. Adam's address, everything… I worked it all out." 

"Look," Crowley said, "where are you? Wherever you are, I'll come to you." 

"I– I'm not really anywhere, yet," Azra said, and this time, his smile was his more nervous one. "I haven't found a body." 

Crowley blinked, and then, quite without any input from his brain, his mouth said, "You could use mine." 

Azra blinked. "Pardon?" 

Crowley hissed at himself internally, but he couldn't take it back now, could he? "You could… y'know, basically just get a ride on my body." 

Azra frowned, his brow furrowing. "That… feels terribly dangerous. Wouldn't we– won't we explode, or something?" 

"Don't think so," Crowley said, trying very hard not to think picture that. "I mean, we're basically made of the same stuff, right? It'll work like a possession, I figure." 

"I've never possessed anyone," Azra said, though he was reaching his hand out slowly. "Crowley, I can't see you, you have to…" 

"Right," Crowley said, "receptive. Just…" 

He closed his eyes and _opened_ , as best he could. It was a weird feeling, and he didn't particularly like it, but then– 

Then, he felt it, in a way he hadn't before, drunk as he was and faint as Azra had been. He felt that warmth, that comfortable shadow, that endless, boundless, unyielding love, felt all of the things that made Azra who he was, and then he was slipping closer, and on the other plane, Crowley opened up all of his wings, curling them around Azra, pulling him close, pulling him _in_ – 

Crowley's eyes flew open, and he gasped sharply, his hands clutching at the table in front of him, entirely without his input. 

_Crowley_ , Azra's voice said in Crowley's head, and he– he sounded shocked, utterly blown away, and he _felt_ shocked, too, stunned, bowled over. Crowley could almost see it in his head, if he focused, all four of the demon's true faces staring at him in wide-eyed wonder. 

"What?" he said, out loud. 

_I've never…_ Azra thought faintly. _I, I knew, I've known, ever since Alexandria, I've– but I never… I've never been able to_ feel _– Crowley, your_ love– 

_Oh,_ Crowley thought back, more than a little relieved that there wasn't some sort of problem. _Yeah. It… it's you. It's always been you, bunny._

There was a smile spreading across his face, broad and sappy and entirely ridiculous, and there were tears in his eyes again, and Crowley couldn't tell if it was his fault or Azra's or a combination of both, and, frankly? He didn't care. 

Then Azra shook Crowley's head briefly, collecting all of his notes into the book once more and snapping it shut again. _You need to sober up, my dear, if we're going to drive. We have to get a bit of a wiggle on to get to Tadfield in time._

Crowley blinked. _What was that?_

_Sober up to go to Tadfield,_ Azra repeated, miracling up more than enough money to cover Crowley's tab and placing it on the table. 

_No, I got that,_ Crowley said, _it was the "wiggle on"–_

_Oh, hush, you,_ Azra said, the words accompanied, as they always were, by a flood of that warm, gentle, endless love, and Crowley couldn't help but bask in it. 

Azra was okay. Azra was okay, and here with him, closer than he'd literally ever been, and they were going to go save the world, and _Azra was okay_. And, in the end, that was all that mattered, really. 

### 

The drive to Tadfield was long and tedious and agonisingly slow and, largely, completely uneventful, uninterrupted by anything but the brief sight of a tornado, of all things, in the distance. Azra let Crowley drive, both literally and figuratively, and just _sat_ , enfolded in the angel's wings, soaking in his love. 

It was– it was stunning, absolutely brilliant, like– like Crowley's own personal star, Azra thought, just as bright, just as vast, just as weighty, just as easy to lose himself in if he wasn't careful, and so he let the light of it wash over and through him, brilliant and unending and warm, and in the other plane, he curled himself in closer to what would have been Crowley's chest, and felt Crowley's wings pull in tighter, hold him closer, in turn. 

By the time they got to the airfield, the guard out front was asleep, as was– Azra reached out his senses, carefully, not wanting to overextend himself and risk slipping out of Crowley's embrace– as was every human in the immediate vicinity, save five, and then... 

_He's here,_ Azra said softly, and when Crowley's hands clutched at the steering wheel, he couldn't tell whether it was his fault or Crowley's. _Adam, he's here, and– and so are the horsepeople, Crowley–_

_It's alright,_ Crowley said, revving the engine and completely miracling the wire gates to the airfield away. _We can still do this, bunny. It's not too late. We haven't lost just yet._

Azra nodded Crowley's head, trying desperately to summon some of the angel's determination for himself. 

They drove into the middle of Armageddon, only to find a very human boy and his very human friends, working very hard to stop it all from happening. 

When Crowley-and-Azra climbed out of the Bentley, Adam glanced over at them, then frowned and looked again. "You're two people. Why are you two people?" 

"Ah," Azra said, utterly taken aback by the completely normal-looking boy before them, the one around whom he could see all of reality bending. "Um. Long story. You see, I was in my bookshop–" 

"You should go back to being two separate people," Adam said, and just like that, it happened. 

Azra gasped as he stumbled to the side, reincorporated once more, and back in his old suit, too, the old, worn fabric in its shades of dark grey, with his old leather gloves, the very same ones that Crowley had conjured for him so long ago now, on his hands once more. 

And then, there was a hand in his, and Azra jumped slightly, looking up to see that Crowley was staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression on his face, his golden eyes wide and almost desperate and his hair still limp and messy from the shop's sprinklers. He looked a mess, utterly exhausted, and like he'd just seen the sun for the very first time. 

He'd never looked lovelier. 

Azra gripped Crowley's hand back, feeling the warmth of it through the glove, and turned back to watch as four young children and their love for one another saved the world, using the very sword that Azra had Fallen for giving away so very long ago. 

### 

Death opened his wings, vast and incomprehensible as they were, and vanished, and Azra blinked away the afterimages, looking over at Crowley. The angel was still clutching his hand like he’d never let go, frowning at the space where the horsepeople had been. 

“Did we do it?” one of the children asked, the messy one, looking over at Azra and Crowley as though they might have an answer. 

“This part of it,” Azra said. 

Crowley squeezed his hand again. “Heaven and Hell will still want their war.” 

“You’ve done a marvellous job, my dears,” Azra said, smiling as gently as he could manage at the four children. The three of them who weren’t Adam looked, quite frankly, terrified. “It just… well, in the end, it might not make all that much difference, I’m afraid.” 

“You!” a voice shouted suddenly, and Azra looked around, squeezing Crowley’s hand convulsively, to see– it was young Miss Device, hurrying towards them and pointing to Azra and Crowley accusingly. She was trailed by a young and very confused-looking man. “You’re the man in the car, you stole my book!” 

“Oh! Book girl!” Crowley said, grinning and tossing _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_ her way. “Catch!” 

Anathema did, and then something– something fluttered out, a small scrap of paper, perhaps one of Azra’s notes, or perhaps a remnant of one of the many worn-through and half-torn pages in the book. Azra caught it, looking down at it. 

It was one of the prophecies. 

_Well,_ Azra thought, secreting the prophecy away in a pocket, _I am a demon. It’s almost expected that I keep some souvenir of the book, isn’t it?_

“What is going on out here?” Miss Device demanded. 

“Long story, no time,” Crowley said, shaking his head. 

“Well, try me,” Miss Device said, cradling the book close to her chest and _glaring_. 

“Ah,” Azra said. “Well. Okay. In– in the Beginning, in the Garden, Crowley was– was sent to clean up, and I had technically been on apple tree duty–” 

“Azra,” Crowley interrupted, shaking his head, and Azra fell silent, biting his lip. Right. No time. Heaven and Hell would surely be here any minute, now, wouldn’t they? Azra could feel it, now that he was focusing on it. The discontented grumblings Down Below. The slow, steady building of His anger. It wouldn’t be long now before both of their Head Offices arrived, and when they did… 

Miss Device turned to the children, said something else, and dear young Adam responded, and then– 

And then thunder boomed, and Azra yelped, tugging his hand free from Crowley’s and whirling around to see the Archangel Gabriel, appearing in a flash of lightning, and Lord Beelzebub zirself, emerging from the ground. The two glanced at one another, rolled their eyes in eerie synchronicity, and then strode towards the small group of humans, past Azra and Crowley. 

“Gabriel!” Crowley said, flashing the Archangel a broad grin. “Hi.” 

“Traitor,” Gabriel said, his voice almost friendly. 

If Azra hadn’t known Crowley quite so well, he likely would’ve missed his flinch. “That’s not a nice word.” 

“Well, get used to it,” Gabriel said. 

“Where’zz the boy?” Beelzebub demanded, glaring at Azra. 

Azra bit on the inside of his cheek, not quite willing to give zir the satisfaction. 

Not that it mattered, in the end. Gabriel pointed directly to Adam, said his name, gave him a wide grin, and then he and Beelzebub started in on him, trying to force him to restart Armageddon. 

Azra glanced around, his heart hammering in his chest. The brave young boy wasn’t budging, but the children around him looked petrified, and Miss Device’s young man was clutching at her hand, and Crowley had this look on his face, a look that made the low roil of panic in Azra’s chest threaten to boil over. 

And then, that look on his face shifting suddenly into a determination Azra had only seen a handful of times before, he– he _stepped forwards_ , crossing to stand behind Adam, saying loudly, “So, hang on a mo’, I just– I have a quick question.” 

“Crowley!” Azra hissed, but it was too late, and Gabriel was glaring daggers at him, and, oh, he was going to get himself _hurt_ – 

“How do you know?” Crowley asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and staring right back, utterly unintimidated. "Like, how do you know that that– all the world-ending stuff– really _is_ his destiny?"

“The Great Plan!” Beelzebub snapped. “It izz written. There shall be a world, and it shall last for six thousand years, and it shall end in fire and flame.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Crowley said, waving a hand as though to bat Beelzebub's words away. “I got that bit. It’s just… how do you know that that’s still the Plan? The _real_ Plan, I mean. Just ‘cause, y’know, I was there, right, when it was all getting settled, and She changed Her mind all the bloody time, yeah? And it’s not like She’s said a word to any of us since Eden. So… how do you _know_?” 

Gabriel’s brow furrowed, and he glanced over at Beelzebub. 

“Well, of course it’s what She wants!” Gabriel said, gesturing vaguely. "How could it not be?"

“You don't–” Azra gasped, and then he hurried forwards, as well, coming up to stand on Adam’s other side, just beside Crowley, where he belonged. “It does make sense, doesn’t it, that She would change Her mind? God’s plans have always been rather ineffable, in the end.” 

“It’d be a pity, wouldn’t it, if you thought you were doing what the Great Plan said, but you were actually going directly against what God really wanted,” Crowley pointed out. 

“But it izzz… written,” Beelzebub said slowly, zir face scrunching up in confusion. 

Gabriel pointed between Azra and Crowley aggressively. “God does not play games with the universe.” 

Azra snorted. “My dear fellow, where have you been?” 

Gabriel glared at him, then tapped Beelzebub on the shoulder, pulling zir away. "Can I just…?" 

Azra glanced over at Crowley, and the panic hadn't lessened any, not really, but then Crowley shot him a look, a small, reassuring sort of smile, and Azra smiled back, hoping against all hope that this _worked_ , that it would be enough, that Crowley's questions could be enough to protect the world.

“Well at least we know whose _fault it is_ ,” Gabriel said eventually, as he and Beelzebub both looked back over at Azra and Crowley. 

Azra waved, giving a small little smile and fighting the urge to reach for Crowley’s hand once more. 

Gabriel stalked forward again, this time aiming straight for Adam. “Young man… you were put on this earth for one reason and one reason only, to _end it_. You’re a disobedient little _brat_ , and I hope someone tells your father!” 

“Oh, they will,” Beelzebub said. “And your father will not be pleazzed.” 

And then they were gone, and the panic that Azra had been forcing back erupted in full force. 

“Crowley–” he said. 

And then he felt it, a wave of massive, agonising, unending _fury_ , His fury, powerful enough to tear through Azra’s body, knocking him to the ground with a shout of pain. 

“No,” he gasped, “no, no, _no_ …” 

“Azra!” It was Crowley, Crowley’s voice, Crowley’s hand on his shoulder, just barely enough to cut through the haze of rage that didn’t belong to Azra. “What’s going on? Are you okay? I can feel something, what’s happening?” 

“They told Him,” Azra said, pushing himself upright. “They told his father. And He–” There was another wave of it, of pain and fury and pure Satanic power, and Azra braced himself on his hands to keep from crumpling again– “oh, He’s not happy…” 

"Shit," Crowley hissed, clutching at Azra's shoulder tight enough that it almost hurt. 

“My dad?” Adam asked, and Azra tried his best to focus on the boy as he spoke. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” 

“Not your Earthly father,” Crowley snapped. “Satan.” 

“The boy doesn’t know any better,” Azra said, catching Crowley’s arm as the world began to tremble beneath them. The humans all stumbled, crying out, talking to each other, and Azra clutched desperately at Crowley, trying to steady the angle, to pull himself out of the haze that Satan's anger threatened to put him in. 

"We're fucked," Crowley said. "Aren't we?" 

"We can't give up," Azra said, shaking his head. The sword, _his_ sword, had clattered closer with all the tremors, and it wasn't as though it would make any difference, not really, but Azra grabbed it anyways, as though a single flaming sword and a demon who could barely stand could make a hint of difference against the literal Devil Himself. "Crowley, we can't give up now." 

"Bunny, this is Satan Himslef, what're we meant to do against that?" Crowley asked. 

Azra almost laughed. "That's meant to be my line, dear." 

"Bunny–"

"Crowley, _please_ ," Azra begged, pleaded, clutching at Crowley as though the world would end if he let go, and now… well, it very well might. "You have– you have to come up with something! Or… or…" 

And then his eyes met Crowley's, and he saw everything there, six thousand years of conversations and dinners and favours and time and _love_ , everything that he stood to lose, and hit him, all at once, cutting like a knife through the haze of pain and anger and the terrible rumbling of the Earth. 

"Or I'll never talk to you again," Azra breathed, and it wasn't a threat, not really. It was a warning, to the both of them. 

Crowley stared at him for a moment longer, his lips parted, his golden eyes wide, and then he reached up to the sky, snarled, and _pulled_ , and the world dissolved into white. 

### 

After everything, after it all ended, after making sure that Adam and his friends and Miss Device and her young man (as it turned out, his name was Newton Pulsifer, and he worked for Sgt. Shadwell, of all people) made it home safely, Crowley and Azra sat on a bench, pressed up against one another, watching as a human drove off with the implements to start Armageddon stowed in the back of a simple mail truck. Neither angel nor demon was quite ready to make the drive back to London yet. Crowley was taking a swig from the bottle of wine he'd summoned, and Azra was fiddling with the small scrap of prophecy that he'd borrowed from Agnes's book. 

"D'you… bunny, d'you really think She meant for it to work out like this?" Crowley asked eventually, holding the bottle out for Azra to take. 

Azra frowned. "I… I'm afraid I can't possibly say. I... wouldn't put it past Her." 

Crowley huffed out a soft laugh, his head falling down to rest on Azra's shoulder. 

Azra froze, glancing around out of habit more than anything else, then forced himself to relax, letting Crowley lean on him. "Are you all right, my dear? Are you quite sure you can drive?" 

"You're not driving the Bentley, and we're not leaving her here," Crowley said. "I'm fine, bunny. Promise." 

Azra hummed disbelievingly, but let it slide. 

They sat there in silence for another, long moment, just soaking in one another's presence, before Azra sighed and said, "I… I suppose I can't go back to the bookshop, can I?" 

Crowley winced, sitting upright once more, looking over Azra's face. "Bunny…" 

"No, it's all right," Azra said softly. "I, well, I suppose I can still ask you to drop me off there, I can see if there's anything at all worth salvaging–" 

"No," Crowley said, shaking his head. "Bunny… don't torture yourself like that, yeah? It's– you won't–" 

"What would you suggest I do, then?" Azra asked, and a part of him had meant for it to be sharp, but he was just– he was so _tired_ , so utterly exhausted. 

"You can stay at my place," Crowley said. "If you like." 

Azra blinked, looking over at him. He– of course, he'd felt it, earlier, how– how _much_ – but– 

"Crowley…" he said, his hand reaching out, fumbling blindly for Crowley's, and Crowley caught it, held it close, warm and gentle and– and _loving_ as he always was. 

"We're on our own side, now," Crowley murmured, squeezing Azra's hand. "Let me take care of you, yeah? Please. We just– for however long we have left. Stay with me." 

And Azra– even if he'd wanted to, and he _didn't_ , he never had, Azra couldn't say no to that. 

"I will," he breathed, his hand tightening on Crowley's almost convulsively. "Crowley… I'll stay, as long as you like." 

And oh, the look that Crowley gave him, the warm, gentle, endless _relief_ in it, Azra could have stared at that expression for the rest of eternity and never tired of it. 

But then Crowley pulled his hand back and stood up, and followed suit, and they climbed as one into the Bentley, and when Crowley sought out his hand again, Azra squeezed back near-desperately. 

They didn't let go of one another once, not on the whole way back to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading!!! I’ll have the next chapter out as soon as I can.


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